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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196747">Silver and Gold</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorwaytoparadise/pseuds/doorwaytoparadise'>doorwaytoparadise</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Meet-Cute, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Werewolf Aziraphale (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:00:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,845</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196747</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorwaytoparadise/pseuds/doorwaytoparadise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting in the rain introduces Anthony Crowley to Aziraphale and suddenly Crowley feels like he's walked into his very own romcom. But there's something a little different about Aziraphale...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Silver and Gold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so i've made a werewolf AU!</p><p>first of all, this AU is dedicated to the GO Events discord server for the massive amounts of support there, because I almost dropped this idea entirely. and second, thank you to Bucky and Elizabeth as always for beta reading and cheerleading~</p><p>note: there will be more spooky elements and a bit of non-graphic violence in future chapters, and additional tags will be added when that content goes up, just to warn folks</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It starts with rain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a thunderstorm that's been brewing overhead all day as Crowley hurries between errands, exhausted and wishing he was back at home. The sky cracks angrily, followed by a sharp burst of light as the clouds break open. Crowley ducks beneath an overhang, swearing profusely, and watching as the drizzle quickly turns into sheets with a detached sort of misery. Of course this is how his day ends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The overhang only does so much, and there's water splashing onto his clothes, his bag, his face, and it feels like it's sinking straight down to his bones. Crowley stands there getting cold and damp and depressed and thinking '</span>
  <em>
    <span>this is my life</span>
  </em>
  <span>' with a resignation that makes him ache somewhere deeper than he typically lets himself examine. He shivers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, my dear."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley startles at the sudden voice beside him, turning his head to find the softest looking person he's ever seen. Pale blonde hair that looks roughly the same texture as a cloud, kind blue eyes, an old-fashioned sweater, and a hesitant smile that makes Crowley briefly wonder if he's somehow drowned for the way it makes his lungs seize. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there's suddenly a jacket over his shoulders, abruptly blocking the rain and ridiculously warm, despite everything. He figures he must make a pitiful sight, to tug on the heart strings of a stranger, but bright eyes meet his own dark ones and there's something there both utterly entrancing and completely sincere. Crowley wants to make a joke here, a snarky comment, something witty, something casual, anything to play it off; but words have quite promptly dropped out of his head and what comes out instead is:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ngk."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those eyes crinkle at the corners, amiable in the wake of Crowley’s verbal ineptitude, and Crowley feels all sorts of off-balance. Crowley watches as he lifts his gaze to the sky and the soft lines of his profile are as stunning as a work of art. An angel, Crowley thinks, a little hysterically, or something like that, because kind people appearing out of nowhere and giving away jackets simply don’t exist for Crowley. The stranger turns his head to look at Crowley again, face still pulled into a smile, but Crowley can see now there’s scars along his other cheek and a small one across his nose. The rain has slowed down to a drizzle now, the whole world going quiet and blurred at the edges. There's a slight glow to the streets as the lights reflect off puddles left behind, and it makes the stranger beside him shine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley wants to say something, even though the silence between them is weirdly comfortable, but there’s a quiet chirp and the man rifles in his pockets for his phone, checks the screen, and purses his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m afraid I need to go. I hope you keep dry, my dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley startles, opens his mouth to return the sentiment, but the other man is already starting to walk away. With a jolt, Crowley realizes he still has the jacket around his shoulders, and he calls out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, uh, your jacket-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stranger waves a hand, keeps walking as he glances over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep it. I never feel the cold anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shoots Crowley one last soft smile and vanishes around the corner, and Crowley just knows he’s never going to recover from this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He curls into the warmth of the jacket's material, wondering if he's stumbled into some romantic movie, and figures, with a helpless kind of cynicism, that that's the last he'll ever see of that man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>=</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there's the produce section.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley is tiredly perusing fruit options when he happens to glance up just in time to meet a familiar pair of blue eyes. He's only seen them once before, but he couldn’t get them out of his head, and now he’s reminded of why. His breath leaves him in a rush and he stands there stupidly, holding an apple, and staring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh," and those blue eyes are crinkling happily, "hello again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>hi’</span>
  </em>
  <span> Crowley returns with leaves him in one breathy rush, and those eyes feel like they’re seeing right through him. But there’s a smile as well, and it’s warm and wide and absolutely gorgeous, turning the scars on his face in a way that makes the harsh lines softer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do apologize for rushing off so abruptly before, it was terribly rude of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, uh, it’s fine, uh-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale.” Crowley lets the name roll around his tongue. “Anthony Crowley. You can call me Crowley.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovely to meet you, Crowley.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you as well.” He mutters distractedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something about Aziraphale’s voice that makes the two syllables of Crowley’s name ring like music, and oh, he is not remotely prepared for this. He flicks his eyes around for something to talk about, anything before he accidentally says something embarrassing. He gets a glimpse of Aziraphale’s basket, an unusual amount of meat products sitting among some vegetables and bread, then darts his eyes to the fruit displays in front of them. Just before it can get awkward, Aziraphale hums thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a coincidence to bump into you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, ah, yeah.” Crowley casts around for something witty to say, something smooth or cool, but that’s never been his luck, and his traitorous brain settles on ‘make a joke’ instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swipes a bag of celery from his basket, brandishes it casually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear I’m not a stalk-er.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley immediately cringes and looks away because that was an awful joke, but there’s a bark of laughter, loud and almost startled, and he snaps his gaze to Aziraphale. Aziraphale, who’s now laughing, clear and bright as bells, laughing at some stupid joke Crowley made in the middle of a grocery store.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ooh yeah, Crowley thinks, he’s a goner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>=</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It culminates at the bookstore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley doesn’t typically visit the bookstore, but he’s having a stressful day and wants to mindlessly browse somewhere that’s going to be relatively quiet. It's pure luck that he spots a familiar head of pale blonde hair among the stacks before it disappears around a corner. He freezes</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> because meeting Aziraphale once was chance, twice was coincidence, but three times is surely </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Crowley doesn’t believe in fate or anything like that, but he thinks that maybe the universe is trying to send him a message, because he just so happens to be wearing the jacket Aziraphale had given him. There’s a choice to make here, he sees, where he can turn around and go back to his boring but comfortable life, familiar in its mundane existence. Or he can walk further into the maze of books and chase after something new and nerve-wracking and potentially leading to disaster. Crowley hunches his shoulders under the jacket, remembers blue eyes and a warm smile, and heads for the shelves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale is skimming over titles, head bobbing as he hunts for something in particular. There’s a pinched kind of frustrated look on his face, clearly not finding what he’s looking for, and Crowley feels the strangest urge to chase it away. He slips into the next aisle over, tries not to overthink for once, and sidles up to an open space on a shelf just about head height.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fancy meeting you here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s head snaps up, locking eyes with Crowley through the gap, and he’s surprised for only a moment, before he’s practically beaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley inwardly preens, absurdly pleased for getting that kind of reaction just by saying hello.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Find anything good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unfortunately not. Then again, this is a secondhand shop, so I don’t expect it’ll always have what I need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s a shame.” Crowley murmurs sympathetically. “Considering what they do have is some of the weirdest romance novels I’ve ever seen. Seriously, you see some of these?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley plucks one out at random, pitching his voice up to read the title in the most dramatic voice he has. Aziraphale laughs across from him, and laughs and laughs as Crowley steadily continues down the aisle, picking up books at random and reading their title or the back of the book in the most ridiculous way he can. Aziraphale follows him down in his own aisle, amusement spilling freely even as he tries to muffle it behind his hand, until they find themselves at the end of the shelves and standing face-to-face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley slides the last book he’d been holding back into its place, conscious of the way Aziraphale’s eyes dart over the jacket. He hums thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were you still browsing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley blinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh ah, not really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale nods and heads for the front, and like a magnet, Crowley is drawn after him. They step through the door and onto the street, and Crowley feels a spike of nervousness shoot through him. It was one thing to mess around inside the shop, when he had props and distractions and some amount of distance between them, but now he just feels exposed and at a loss. He knows what he wants, knows himself well enough to spot attraction, and he absolutely hates how it makes him. Aziraphale is so different from anyone he’s met before, and very different from anyone he’s ever had interest in, and he so badly doesn’t want to mess this up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s also the fact that Aziraphale could be completely uninterested. He seems the type to just be that nice to anyone, and why would he like someone like Crowley anyway? They barely know each other and all Aziraphale has seen of Crowley has been stupid jokes and getting soaked in the rain. He nearly works himself into a silent state of panic in less than a minute when Aziraphale turns to face him and derails his train of thought entirely with a small smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like to grab a coffee or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, Crowley manages to choke out a ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>’, past the rushing sound in his ears, and he finds himself sitting at a small cafe table, cradling a mocha as Aziraphale sips a latte and chatters happily beside him. It’s comfortable and easy and Crowley wonders how he managed to get here. They’re talking about books and the weather and completely ordinary things, but he’s never felt so connected to someone before. He breathes, sips his coffee, and hopes this is something he can have for at least a little while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the coffees are gone and they both stand from their chairs, Aziraphale gives Crowley a look he’s sure is a once-over and not just his imagination being hopeful. They part ways, heading in opposite directions, but Aziraphale hands Crowley the cardboard sleeve that had been around his cup, and walks off with one last grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley watches him go, a fluttering in his chest, and glances down at the sleeve. His breath abruptly catches, because Aziraphale has written his number in a clear neat line across the surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh.’ he thinks, then it hits him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's all he can do not to run dancing down the street.</span>
</p>
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